


This life that we've created

by Elesianne



Series: Fëanorian marriages [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Family, Marriage, Romance, Some Fluff, Some angst, Years of the Trees, implied sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elesianne/pseuds/Elesianne
Summary: Life is made up of small moments and ordinary, wonderful days for the first few years of Caranthir and Tuilindien’s marriage. Most of those days are full of love and happiness, and the worse ones are at least eased by love.A continuation of Caranthir and Tuilindien's story in the form of a collection of ficlets. Sequel toYour spirit calling out to mineandFascination.
Relationships: Caranthir | Morifinwë/Caranthir's Wife
Series: Fëanorian marriages [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/608221
Comments: 56
Kudos: 45





	1. The still, quiet light of morning

**Author's Note:**

> In honour of the bloody coronavirus, I’m writing more about my favourite couple (don’t tell the others). The title is from The Amazing Devil's [Fair](https://theamazingdevil.bandcamp.com/track/fair) which fits Carnistir and Tuilindien rather well.
> 
> These ficlets vary in length and in where they fall on the fluff-angst-scale. This first chapter is the shortest, kind of a prologue.

Carnistir has always disliked mornings.

They were loud and messy and chaotic when he was a child, and barely better as an adult in the last years he lived at home since Ambarussar are capable of creating a remarkable amount of noise and chaos between just the two of them. Tyelko is also, still, as irritatingly raucous a morning person as he was as a child, and the only reason he and Carnistir didn't have as many quarrels at the breakfast table as adults is that Tyelko has been gone from home a lot since he gained his majority.

Carnistir has always been the opposite of a morning person. He always finds it difficult to pull all of himself away from Irmo's realm at once: for the first two or so of hours after rousing, he is scatter-brained and irritable and wants to go about his morning routines in peace and quiet.

Since he married his routines have changed, but all for the better. Mornings are slow and quiet now. Tuilindien isn't a morning person either, and they live in their own house where they can decide the rhythm of their day.

It brings him great happiness every morning to wake in the same bed as Tuilindien, and that happiness is compounded by how they wake up every morning.

They usually rouse around the same time but whichever of them does first will get closer to the other: roll closer and throw some limbs over them, or grab tighter if they're already holding onto each other.

Slow movements, and gentle, quiet touches in the mingled light of the morning that shines in through the gaps in the curtains covering the tall windows.

One or both of them will whisper 'good morning' either in words or in spirit and reach out mentally, and they will touch that way , reuniting after a night of walking different memories.

And then they simply… stay there for a time.

No sitting up instantly, no leaving the bed, no making love, not even talking or touching beoynd a few soft caresses and words.

For the first time in his life Carnistir takes the luxury of waking slowly and sweetly. And how sweet it is with Tuilindien, with her soft, flower-scented hair and languorous limbs wrapped around him, or all of her tightly in his hold.

For the first few days he tells himself that he indulges and delays beginning the day's tasks only for her sake, for it seems to be what she prefers. But he never was much of a one to lie to himself and soon he admits that he could not enjoy it more.

'Tuilë', he murmurs to her one morning when they have both shaken off the last of sleepiness. 'I adore mornings with you.'

Tuilindien's eyes are darker than usual in the limited light of their bedchamber. 'Mornings are a very special time', she agrees.

'As restful as the night itself', he says. For him, it is easier to keep an even mood all day when he has had a slow, pleasant morning.

She kisses him gently. 'I am glad', she says, and rises from bed and goes to pull the curtains open.

They have stayed in bed even longer this morning than usual, and the light that fills the room is almost pure gold. It surrounds Tuilindien with a radiant glow, her golden hair that tumbles down to her hips a brighter-than-usual glory of indescribable beauty.

'Come back to bed', Carnistir says with a dry mouth.

She turns from looking out to the garden to looking at him. 'I thought you were roused enough already. I am sorry if I rose too early.'

'I am, and you didn't, but come back.'

She comes and smiles at him and dives into his arms, understanding his meaning at last, at once.

In the end they get out of bed so late that once again Tuilindien worries about their servants making fun of them.

*

They fit into each other's lives with about as much ease and difficulty as they expected. The ease comes from discussing it all – schedules, mealtimes, occupations, engagements, pastimes – in person and in the many, many letters they have exchanged over the years; and from the shared life in their new house being equally new to them.

Carnistir lived in the house first, when it was still half-unfinished, but he had few routines then that he wants to take to his married life.

They build up their new life out of plans and compromises, his likes and hers, new things and old, and somehow all the parts fit together well enough, aided by affection and care where they might otherwise have friction.

Carnistir has never worked less in his life, because he wants to have plenty of time with his wife. His family makes fun of him but he doesn't care, because Tuilindien does not work that much either, only enough that at the end of the day there are ink stains on her fingers for him to kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Carnistir and Tuilindien spend time with his family.


	2. Family dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter length: ~1,700 words

Since the first days of their marriage they make a tradition of dining often at Carnistir's parents' house. Nerdanel invites them even more often: they do not always accept, because they like dining quietly at home, too. But they accept more often than Carnistir feels really comfortable with, and he grumbles about it sometimes.

'My family is best in very small doses per week', he says.

'I have no family here', Tuilindien reminds him. 'Your family is mine and I want to be a part of it, even when there is a risk of your father saying something rude.'

'There is _always_ a risk of him saying something _cruel_ ', Carnistir grumbles, and by the look he sees in her eyes, Tuilindien agrees with him.

But she says, 'Do not be so protective of me, Carnistir, that you insulate me from things I need.'

So they ride through the city to Carnistir's old home at least twice a week. Carnistir remains ever vigilant, and is comforted – as is Tuilindien – by the knowledge that they have more allies in his family than there are people who would rather that Tuilindien weren't there.

Nerdanel has taken Tuilindien under her maternal wing; Maitimo is as reliably kind to her as he is to everyone who deserves it; Makalaurë and Tinweriel are, when they are there, very welcoming; and Ambarussar have yet to tire of vying for Tuilindien's attention.

And if Findekáno is visiting, as he often is, he appears to be happy to talk of Vanyarin things with Tuilindien every time, earning less-than-approving looks from Fëanáro and pretending to not notice them at all.

Tuilindien has been teaching some lessons to two groups of royal's and noble's children at the palace, including Nolofinwë's youngest child. One night only a few weeks after Carnistir and Tuilindien's wedding, Nerdanel asks her how she likes it.

'I like it very much.' Tuilindien smiles. 'There are some, but not many, differences between children of the Noldor and Vanyar. Two years ago I taught a group on Taniquetil who were only a little younger than my younger students here.'

'It does not take as much education and scholarship as you've achieved to teach children that young', Fëanáro says. He looks at his food rather than Tuilindien when he speaks, and his brows speak of a storm brewing.

Carnistir puts down his cutlery and steels himself.

Fëanáro somehow notices it for he says, irritated, 'Don't glower at me, Carnistir, I meant it as a compliment to your learned wife.'

'I'm sure', Carnistir replies, his voice as irritatingly sarcastic as he can make it.

Tuilindien slips her hand on his knee under the table and squeezes it. 'I enjoy teaching children', she says mildly. It is not the first time she has had to defend teaching.

'And do you intend to continue teaching young children for the foreseeable future, or do you have other plans?'

'For the foreseeable future, yes.'

Fëanáro sips his wine and purses his lips. 'You have a fine mind for language but you will never make much of a name for yourself if you keep straying from scholarship to pursuits that you enjoy but which are of little prestige.'

Carnistir stands up, sending his heavy chair crashing back. While everyone's ears ring with the loud sound, and Nerdanel and Maitimo reproach Fëanáro, Carnistir shouts, 'After all the damned conversations we've had about this, and you and mother too, and your promises –'

He closes his eyes, draws a deep breath, and continues, less loud but cold as glittering ice, 'Father. If you speak to Tuilindien with disrespect, we will leave, and we won't' come back for another dinner. We will host dinner at our house and invite everyone but you. I dare say that several members of the family will come.

'Do you want that to happen?' he asks baldly. He is after all better at straightforwardness than sarcasm.

Fëanáro has stood up too. Gaze and voice level, he says, 'I do not', and, 'You had that neat little speech planned, didn't you?'

'I did.'

Fëanáro sits down and picks up his knife and fork, avoiding Nerdanel's disappointed gaze. Carnistir doesn't sit until Fëanáro says to Tuilindien, cool but polite, 'I meant no disrespect. Only an observation of how things are here in Tirion, in case they are otherwise among your people. I am sorry if I caused offence.'

'The Noldor are my people now as much of the Vanyar', Tuilindien says, her eyes on her plate and hands in the folds of her dress. She says nothing of the offence obviously caused.

(Her dress is another Vanyarin confection of many wisp-thin layers of light blue fabric. Carnistir has come to love her floaty dresses; Fëanáro's face twitches every time he sees Tuilindien wearing one of them.)

'Let me speak, Carnistir', she whispers to him when she notices that he would defend her again.

She adds, 'It is the same with fame and prestige among the Vanyar. But I do not seek either, prince Fëanáro.'

(Tuilindien uses formal titles like tools and weapons, as signs of both respect and disapproval.)

'As you once said to me, I am of noble enough birth – and made more so by my marriage, I might add – that I can move between pursuits as pleases me. It pleases me now, as it often does, to spend my days teaching children, and to work with Carnistir on our house and garden that are still far from what they can be, and to learn more about Tirion and its people.'

'Few newlyweds who have just moved to a new place think of gaining renown above anything else', Nerdanel says, smiling at Tuilindien though there is still a pinched look around her eyes.

'We did', Fëanáro replies.

'Few people do', Nerdanel repeats.

'It is simply a difference of priorities', Tuilindien says, finally looking at Fëanáro.

'It must be', Fëanáro says with a tight-lipped smile.

Tuilindien picks up the conversation again after an awkward pause during which Nerdanel and Maitimo seemed to be looking for something to say, too. 'I have actually found that teaching children of the court is a good way of getting to know their parents too', Tuilindien remarks. 'I spoke with Comyarë today, Rúmil's daughter – I believe you know her well, Maitimo. She has been gathering words for comparison from the Falmari…'

And she actually manages to have a pleasant conversation with Fëanáro, Maitimo and Curufinwë about linguistics, though the tension in her body does not ease until they ride home.

'I am sorry for my reprobate of a father –' Carnistir begins as soon as they dismount. He feels exhausted.

'Do not apologise for him, my darling', Tuilindien sighs as she leads Mirwannë into the stable and to her stall. 'It is not your task. You did your utmost to protect me from his sharp tongue, and for that I am grateful. It worked.'

'It always feels that I do too little and too late', he says unhappily, but Tuilindien's eyes that meet his over the low wall between Mirwannë and Varnë's stalls are clear of unhappiness.

'You do enough', she assures him.

'Where do you find your patience and courage to keep trying with him?' Carnistir asks. 'Answering his prodding questions, and then sparking up a conversation about something you know he'll be interested to talk about.'

Tuilindien pats Mirwannë's neck and leaves her to the groom's care since she is dressed nicely for dinner, not horse-grooming.

Carnistir is dressed for somewhere between those two activities but he unsaddles, brushes and feeds Varnë himself anyway because he has yet to find a groom to employ that Varnë tolerates or who is brave enough to go near her hooves and teeth even though she doesn't.

(He'd tried to poach the bravest one his father employs, but the man proved too loyal to his long-time employer to accept any of Carnistir's increasingly generous offers.)

Tuilindien waits outside Varnë's stall and answers his question after a moment of thinking. 'I find my courage and confidence in being yours', she tells him, her liquid-green-blue gaze on his. Carnistir leans against Varnë's warm flank and listens. 'In the knowledge and security that no matter what your father says, he cannot tear us apart.' She puts her hand on the stall door, her right hand bearing the golden ring Carnistir gave her at their wedding feast.

What can Carnistir do at that but go and kiss her over the chest-high stall door? It is one of the most uncomfortable kisses they have shared.

'Things will keep getting better', he promises to her, and kisses her once more for good measure, and then goes to groom Varnë because that simply has to be done before they can go inside and kiss properly. 'Even my father cannot help but warm to you. Or get used to you, at the very least.'

He brushes Varnë down with the swift, long motions that she prefers, and keeps talking himself down from the remnants of rage that still smoulder in his heart. 'My father is learned and clever but he cannot understand people different from himself. My mother told me so once. I couldn't see it before that myself.

'At least Tyelko and Curvo are no longer rude about you. Well, Curvo is still childish sometimes, but he is still a child, just an overgrown one.'

Tuilindien bursts into laughter. As always it makes warmth bloom inside Carnistir's chest. 'Overgrown in height and in years, too, Carnistir! He is several years past being of age.'

'Well, he doesn't behave like it', Carnistir grumbles, but smiles at her as he switches from brush to hoof-pick and begins his daily struggle to clean Varnë's hooves while the mare pretends that it is the worst thing in the world.

'Looking at you doing that, you know, I think that half your strength is built up from fighting Varnë', Tuilindien remarks teasingly.

Carnistir would laugh if his hands shaking would not lose him this particular fight with his horse. 'Perhaps it is', he says, wresting another hoof up to be cleaned. 'I have had her since I was still growing. If it is, well, is she not a worthy opponent, since she weighs several times as much as I do?'

Tuilindien does laugh again, and the night continues like that, and they do not spare Fëanáro one more thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, it is the turn for Tuilindien's family to make an appearance. The chapter will be posted on Thursday.


	3. The joy of houseguests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick refresher on Tuilindien's family for this chapter: her mother is an advisor to Ingwë; father Ingolmo a scholar; older sister Lirulinë had a baby a little over a year before this chapter; younger sister Cantiel is pre-tweenish in human years; youngest sister Wilwarindëa, a toddler.

Tuilindien tries not to get homesick. She writes to her family often, and gets to know Carnistir's family better, and has tea with Indis and her Vanyarin ladies twice a week, and is as sociable as she can be with new acquaintances that she hopes will become friends. It is often exhausting, and she still gets homesick.

Though she wants and tries to avoid self-pity, there are days when it is difficult to do any more than what she has committed to, days when she would rather stay at home and curl up in a blanket with Snowdrop purring in her lap and Cinder napping somewhere nearby, and Carnistir somewhere close enough that she can feel the warmth of his spirit touching hers.

It is colder in Tirion in the autumn than on Taniquetil or the plains of Valinor, where she and Carnistir again spent the latter half of summer on her grandparents' farm with her family. They enjoyed their time there immensely, but after the summer's end and the harvest festival, they returned home to Tirion and settled back into their own life.

 _It is the life I chose_ , Tuilindien tells herself day after day, _and I do not regret it_. And both of those of statements are true; should the truth of them not be enough to keep homesickness at bay?

Yet it is not, not though she loves Carnistir more every day that passes.

As the last remnants of summer are replaced by falling leaves on the streets of glittering white and a good harvest in their own orchard, Carnistir becomes worried about her.

'You spend too much time wandering in the garden or staring out the window into the rain when the weather is bad', he tells her one evening, his fierce black brows drawn to a tight frown aimed at her, a rare occurrence.

She slips into his lap on the living room settee. It is not yet dinner-time. 'I do not do those things all that much.'

His arms tighten protectively around her as she wiggles to find a good position. 'You do them too much.'

'I cannot help it. I wish I could. I tried to keep busy but I cannot do it all the time. I am not suited for that, and I prefer being at home with you to constantly seeking the company of people I hardly know anyway.'

'What can I do?' Carnistir asks.

'What _more_ can you do, you mean. You already do so much.'

'I could –' he begins, but she interrupts him.

'I know that you refused supervising the building of the new distillery west of the city only because it would make your days longer to ride there and back every day. You were very interested in it, I know, I could tell. And you have still not finished all your planned little projects here at the house, either. I know that it vexes you that there are unfinished rooms here, yet you have chosen to spend more time with me instead. I do not want you to give up more.'

The set of his shoulders is bullish – that is the only way to describe it. It amuses Tuilindien. She smooths her thumbs over his frowning eyebrows.

'And I do not regret coming here to be yours, though I miss my old home and my family and friends', she says. 'I shall bear the missing, though it may take some more aimless wandering in the orchard and other such moments of wallowing in self-pitying waking memories.'

'But you will tell me if there is –' he begins, stubborn as a bull, too.

'I will', Tuilindien promises. These days all the promises he asks her to make are easy ones.

And she thinks that that will be the end of him worrying about her for that evening at least, but she should have known that he is too stubborn for that, too. When they are settled in their places before the dressing-table mirror hours later, his hands in her hair, taking apart her braids, he says, 'You should ask your family to visit.'

'I have thought about it.' She bends her head when a gentle pressure from Carnistir's palm at her neck indicates that she should, but keeps talking. 'Lirulinë won't come for some time because her baby is so young. She came to our wedding but it was an arduous journey for her with a baby so small and she would prefer not to make it again for a year or two, and I do not want to ask it of her. My mother won't come because she wants to stay close to Lirulinë, and because Wilwarindëa is still so young too. My father might come but won't enjoy it. He rarely enjoys things that are not very familiar and routine to him.'

'Hmm. What about Cantiel?'

Tuilindien meets his eyes in the mirror, thoughtful. 'She is rather young to leave home for longer periods of time.'

'But she is older than she was a year ago.' Carnistir adds, 'What I mean is, you have taken care of her for shorter periods of time before, haven't you? You two are very close. And she is a cheery and curious sort of child, you always say so. She might enjoy staying with us for a time. She could join your group of students.'

'And you like her, don't you?' Tuilindien smiles.

'She is a sweet girl. Much like her next oldest sister.'

He earns a brighter smile at that. 'She likes you, too', Tuilindien says. 'And she is indeed a cheery sort of girl, braver than me, so I think she would dare stay with us without my parents. Someone would have to bring her here, of course.'

'Perhaps for your well-being's sake your father could be bothered to leave his books and his comfortable chair in the garden for the ride back and forth, if he does not have to stay.'

'I appreciate your restraint in the amount of sarcasm you said that with', Tuilindien chuckles.

'I don't understand him as a person at all, but he has always treated me kindly so I cannot dislike him much despite my bewilderment.'

'He is a rather strange person', Tuilindien has to agree. 'And he dislikes leaving home but indeed, perhaps he might leave for long enough to bring Cantiel.'

'Write to him', Carnistir says, kissing the top of her head. 'The mere thought of Cantiel coming made you brighten and glow.'

'I will write to my mother since she is the one that makes things happen in my family', Tuilindien says.

Carnistir snorts and grins in answer to her grin.

Later, in bed, when they are relaxed and tired and quiet and twined around each other, Tuilindien whispers thanks to Carnistir for encouraging her to invite someone from her family to stay. 'I am too good at seeing only the obstacles', she says. 'You are good at running right through them, like a bull.'

'A bull?' She cannot see his brows but she knows they must be raised, by the tone of his voice. 'That is uncomplimentary enough to sound like something I might say.'

'It was meant as a compliment', she says, and burrows deeper under the covers and in his arms. 'You exhausted me with pleasure, Carnistir, I am barely capable of coherent speech and certainly not of well-formed compliments.'

'Then rest.' His voice is a pleased growl.

Tuilindien does. She walks on the slopes of Taniquetil with her sisters all night, Cantiel's small hand in hers, Lirulinë ahead of them keeping an eye for ripe berries.

*

After her father and sister arrive, Tuilindien and Carnistir's slow, peaceful mornings become less so.

Already before they come to Tirion, Tuilindien engages a drawing-master for Cantiel so that she can have lessons for the full duration of her stay. Nerdanel, who knows the artistic circles of Tirion, recommended a good one.

'I think that even in a relatively short time, she can learn much here that she couldn't at home', she says to Carnistir who doesn't seem to mind that one of their drawing rooms will be taken over by Cantiel's pursuit of art. He even gets her most of the supplies she'll need in advance, filling the room with artistic paraphernalia.

'Undoubtedly.' Carnistir's chest practically puffs up in Noldorin pride.

Tuilindien hides her smile.

The only unfortunate thing about Cantiel's lessons is how early they are. Tuilindien has to slip out of bed much earlier than she would like to, too early to savour their sleepy connection stirring back to life, or the warmth of Carnistir's body entwined with hers. She has to leave him there, grumbling and gathering the covers around himself as she leaves to have a hurried breakfast with Cantiel and take her to the lesson.

At least the lessons last all morning. Unless Tuilindien has lessons of her own to teach, she can slip back into bed with Carnistir when she gets back home, muttering a good morning to her father if she runs into him on her way back to the bedroom.

To everyone's surprise, Ingolmo expressed a desire to stay for a while, and he was of course welcome to do so, and Tuilindien very happy to keep him longer than she'd expected. Ingolmo is content to spend the days on his own, visiting libraries and scholars or just wandering around the house and appearing for dinner every day without failure. He is a very easy houseguest.

Except one morning, one of those when Tuilindien has slipped back to bed after taking Cantiel to her lesson, and pressed her winter-morning cold toes to her grumbling husband's calf, and greeted him with a wordless burst of affection, and laid her head on his bicep and closed her eyes.

There is a cheery voice from their bedroom door. 'Tuilindien!' And then, a few seconds later when Carnistir has already flown into panic, 'I'm going to the library.'

It's her father, who has never before felt the need to announce that he is leaving but now he has, even though Tuilindien is still in her bedroom. She rues her father's inconsistence and his forgetting that he should keep away from behind married daughters' doors.

She sighs and sits up, sending a wave of calm to Carnistir.

He has slept naked as always. As soon as he heard Ingolmo's voice he dove out of bed and began scrabbling for yesterday's clothes, covering himself in a sheet while he does so, resulting in a complicated, graceless hopping of a dance.

Tuilindien is dressed only in her shift. She sends another wave of calm to Carnistir and goes to the door but doesn't open it.

'That's very nice, father', she calls through the door. 'See you later.'

'Yes, I'll see you at dinner!'

And she comes back to bed. Carnistir, still beet-red, tosses away his clothes and lies down and she burrows to his side and closes her eyes and says to him, 'Let's wake slowly.'

He kisses the top of her head, and they both close their eyes. But within a minute it becomes clear that they cannot find any kind of rest anymore. Their hearts are beating too hard, their limbs no longer languorous, their minds wandering to the tasks of the day.

Carnistir groans. 'Right now, I regret telling you to invite your family.'

'I can understand that.' Tuilindien throws aside the covers, sits up and stretches. 'We have grown very accustomed and attached to our own habits and the rhythm of our life, it turns out.'

'Mm', says Carnistir, turning his flushed cheek to the pillow. 'I like our routines. And I never dealt well with deviation from routine.'

'My poor darling.' She looks at him lying there, naked and uncovered on the white sheets, the pale golden light of morning showing his freckles and his muscles and his long legs to a particular advantage.

She runs her hand down his cheek and his neck and his chest and to his waist. He opens his eyes and looks up at her through long, dark lashes.

'Is there something you want, Tuilindien?' And there is that soft-mischievous smile, too rare, that she loves, making an appearance at the corners of his lips.

'We cannot sleep, that is clear. But are you too irritated to…?' and she takes his hand and lifts it to her breast.

Something flashes in his eyes, and he doesn't bother giving a verbal answer, simply pressing her to the mattress at once and kissing her.

 _Not a bad morning_ , Tuilindien thinks as she kisses him back with equal enthusiasm, and winds her arms around his neck and into his thick black hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, there is a storm in Carnistir and Tuilindien's house. I'll update on Sunday.


	4. Stormy days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A less happy chapter. There are bad days in every relationship.
> 
> In this chapter, near the end, there are some lines from the lyrics from The Amazing Devil's exquisite love song [Fair](https://theamazingdevil.bandcamp.com/track/fair) where the title of this fic is also from.

There are stormy days, too, in between the days of bliss and comfort.

Literal autumn storms, which force Tuilindien to stay inside instead of spending love in her beloved orchard, are more common here in Tirion than on Taniquetil. On the slopes of the holy mountain Manwë's benevolence protects Ingwë's court from the harshest of his winds.

And there are the kind of storms that rage inside Carnistir.

Most of the time he can control them, and Tuilindien knows that he works hard to do so. He comes home late after clearing his head elsewhere, or expends his rage and energy by chopping firewood even though they have servants who would do it, or he goes to his study after a gruff apology and sits there in silence as the light around him mingles and changes. And when he does come to Tuilindien, the storm is mostly cleared, the rough waters of his mind not too difficult for the two of them to navigate.

But sometimes he comes home irritated and only grows more so as the evening goes on, and Tuilindien tires of being careful with him and grows quiet. And though he usually would, he does not notice, too preoccupied with his own vexations.

And then he snaps about something over dinner, about something which is not even her fault or in her control, and Tuilindien lays down her knife and fork, and says, her voice shaking in that way that she despises, 'If you are going to be like that tonight, Carnistir, I will cut this meal short and go visit Parmandil.'

He stops and stares at her and snarls, 'It's too late for visiting.'

'It's too angry here.'

Silence, and shame in their connection that both of them have tried their best to close.

'I didn't even shout', Carnistir says after a tense minute.

Tuilindien's knuckles are white from grasping her skirt. She cannot look at him when he says things like that, things that bring into too bright a light what he is used to, what are his standards for 'too angry' – or what they used to be anyway, and still bleed through.

'I am not going to wait here until you do.' She stands up, fully intending to leave. To go to her friend Parmandil's house or, if she is not home, to – to Indis, or to their own stables to sit down in a pile of straw and let Mirwannë snuffle at her. Anywhere but here.

Yet she tarries, moves slowly as if in an unwanted dream as she gathers her skirts in her hands and pushes her chair back.

More silence and shame from her husband on the other side of the table. And then the scraping of another pushed back violently.

'Stay', Carnistir says. 'I will go out and come back when I won't hurt you. I wouldn't mean to do it –'

'I know', she says, because she does.

'– But I might. I am sorry.'

And he is, he always is, but she still cannot breathe with all that anger in the air, choking and poisonous, only more so when it is directed at himself. She knew this about him when she promised herself to him, and she accepted it as part of him, but that does not mean she has to breathe in the same air as him when it is clouded by rage.

So she lets him leave, grateful that she doesn't have to be the one to go. He has many more places to go than her.

He has to walk to her side of the table to get out of the room. He comes close to her, not touching, and hesitates.

'I argued with Ontamo and was still angry about that when I came home', he admits gruffly. 'I'll go see him and resolve things with him. It was not fair of me to bring the argument home.'

'No', Tuilindien agrees, with as little accusation as she can. It is not very little. Her day had been good, and she'd looked forward to the time with him in the evening. 'Please don't come home when you are like that. No, do come home, always, it is your home too, but do not come at me with your anger when I am not even its cause.'

'I won't.' There is so light a touch to her arm that Tuilindien is not sure if she imagined it, and then it is gone, and so is Carnistir.

Tuilindien sits back down and leans back in her chair and drinks a glass of wine. She has no appetite for food.

So he fought with Ontamo, she thinks as she stares at Carnistir's half-eaten meal on the other side of the table.

Ontamo is Carnistir's closest friend, Tuilindien assumes, though Carnistir has never explicitly said so. He appears to be the only one who is not a family friend – most of Carnistir's friends are also friends of one or more of Carnistir's brothers. Carnistir and Ontamo were apprentices to the same stone-smith when they were only boys, and forged a bond during that time, Tuilindien has gathered. It is a bond that has weathered many disagreements over the years.

She hopes it will weather this one too.

When the light in the dining room begins to turn rather silver, and her glass of wine is empty, Tuilindien goes to get a cloak so she can wander in the garden in the cooling evening air.

There are few flowers in bloom now, the garden settling into winter's rest. Only _lavaraldar_ trees still carry their pale flowers. Tuilindien has always loved these trees for their resilience even in the midst of winter. They rest for a short while, and then they bloom again, filling the air with their faint, sweet scent that brings restfulness.

She stands for a long time among the trees, doing little more than inhaling deeply.

She wonders if Carnistir is doing something similar, or if he is yelling at the top of his lungs.

Tuilindien is slipping into bed when he comes home. She has brought a book to the bedroom, which she rarely does since books tend not to get read there, but she leaves it on the nightstand and sits back against the headboard as she watches Carnistir strip himself in brisk movements that do not look too angry.

She can feel little from him besides shame, again. She is tired of it.

'Are you feeling better now?' she asks.

'Yes.' He yanks his undertunic up and over his head, and tosses it on the floor. Then he grimaces, bends down to pick the tunic up and places it neatly on the chair where he leaves his clothes every night.

'It was a stupid misunderstanding', he says. 'But I am quick to anger, and he is quick to indignation when his ideas are not appreciated, so we both got into a huff and parted when we should have kept talking.'

'I am glad that Ontamo and you cleared the air', Tuilindien replies carefully. 'I know that he is important to you.'

Carnistir sighs and sits down on the side of the bed. Tuilindien notices that he places himself so that he doesn't touch her. She feels the heat of him on her skin anyway, and misses it.

'He is', Carnistir says. 'Most of the time he is the best person to discuss my ideas with and to work alongside, whether on a shared project or on our own projects. He is less demanding than my father and less sarcastic than Curufinwë. But we both have a short temper and sometimes they flare at the same time and then we cannot just laugh it off.'

'Things are well now, though?' She doesn't mean only things with Ontamo.

They look at each other, properly in the eyes, for the first time since Carnistir came home with a dark cloud in his spirit.

'I will likely be half-grumpy for a while yet but things are well if my most beloved _vanimelda_ is well', he says. 'Tuilë, I am sorry –'

She cannot help but say, 'I am tired of apologies. I always forgive you anyway. You did not mean to hurt me and you barely did before you left and gave me the space of our home.'

'You have fewer places that you could go here in Tirion', he says, and at that she opens her arms and welcomes him back to her like she knows she always will, because she loves him beoynd reason and beoynd her understanding of herself and beoynd the borders of the world, though it is impossible. Beoynd the stars into darkness.

She brushes her hand through his hair as he clings to her, his frantic heartbeat calming down against her chest, and she thinks again, _it is not fair how unreasonably in love I am with you_ , and, _it is not fair how much I love you even when you make me ache_.

Perhaps she thinks that at him, having unconsciously opened herself up to him again, because he mumbles into her hair, 'I love you to irrationality and back. I'll always come back to you and this home that we've created.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I never claimed to write only healthy relationships. Tuilindien and Carnistir should not be taken as a model of what is good or acceptable in a marriage.
> 
> The next chapter includes a prompt fill for Alkarinque that I have previously posted on Tumblr, but I've added a lot to it. In the chapter, Carnistir and Tuilindien go on a journey. I'll update on Thursday.
> 
> As always, I appreciate and adore comments. They give me inspiration and motivation.


	5. Discoveries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first part of this in response to a prompt from a prompt list on Tumblr (‘what are you doing’ for Carnistir & Tuilë by @alkarinqque) and added a much longer second part to include it in this fic.
> 
> My inspiration was this line from the Silmarillion: _'Fëanor and his sons abode seldom in one place for long, but travelled far and wide upon the confines of Valinor, going even to the borders of the Dark and the cold shores of the Outer Sea, seeking the unknown.'_
> 
>  **Warning** for hunting and animal death, no detailed description.

Carnistir comes home from his worksite to find Tuilindien at her writing desk. There is nothing unusual about that – the long desk before a large window in a garden-facing sitting room is one of her favourite places in the house – and neither is it unusual that she is so absorbed in her task that she doesn't rise when he comes to the room. Her only reply to his greeting is a splash of warmth in their wordless connection.

He goes to her, anyway, and kisses her cheek and caresses her hair that she has gathered in a coiled braid at the nape of her neck.

'Just a moment', Tuilindien says, writing a few more one-word lines on the sheet of parchment before her. There are several other similar sheets of paper strewn on the table: only one or two words per line.

'What are you doing?' Carnistir asks, curious, but trying not to read her papers over her shoulder. She doesn't like it when he does.

Tuilindien writes one more line and then turns towards him. 'Darling', she says, takes his hand, and tips her face up to be kissed. Carnistir obediently and happily bends down to do so, kissing her properly this time.

'What are you doing?' he repeats when their lips part. He settles more comfortably at her side, an arm around her shoulder, and tries again to not stare at her writing.

'Writing a packing list', she replies, still a little distracted, looking at her scribbles.

'A packing list?' Carnistir should be delighted Tuilindien showing interest in their approaching trip. He is taking her along to visit mansions of Aulë and to trek beyond them into the wilder regions of Valmar that are uninhabited and largely unexplored, though Carnistir's family has been exploring and mapping the regions there for years, bit by bit. It will be the first such journey for Tuilindien.

Maitimo, Tyelkormo and Curufinwë are coming with them. Carnistir would prefer to go without the last two but he can hardly stop them from coming, and at least Maitimo will be there to keep the peace. Carnistir has considered just going alone on a separate trip with Tuilindien but since she is an inexperienced traveller in the wild, it is much safer to go together with Carnistir's brothers. The food on a journey is always better when travelling with Tyelko, too.

(But Carnistir has been praying daily that Tyelko and Curvo will behave. He'll push them into a river if they don't.)

'I've never made a packing list', Carnistir says to Tuilindien.

'I made one when I was preparing to move here when we married. I went through all my possessions and decided what to take.' Tuilindien gathers the messy-for-her sheets of her list into one tidy pile. 'This didn't feel very different, since we are going to be gone a long time.'

Carnistir cannot help snorting. 'With the difference that we must carry all that we take with us on our horses, and it cannot be too much, as we cannot afford to tire them too much. Your list –' he takes the stack of papers from her hands and counts the sheets '– is far too long. Twice too long, at the very least.'

'Oh.' Tuilindien looks up at him, dismayed.

'You have to take many items off that list.' Oh, but he can never resist her when she looks at him like that. 'I can carry some of your things', he acquiesces. 'Some. I know from experience that I don't need much myself, and my Varnë is bigger and stronger than your mare.'

'But Mirwannë is very sure-footed in every terrain', Tuilindien defends her horse.

'And that is very good, very useful for our journey. But she cannot carry all this, nor can Varnë.'

Tuilindien wrings her hands in her skirts, her usual nervous habit that Carnistir finds very endearing. She does not feel or look too upset, though, as she says, 'I do not know what to leave off my list.'

'I can do it for you.' He kisses the top of her head and, in the happy contentment that he feels from her at that, decides that he dares to joke. Waving the sheets of parchment in his hand, he asks, 'Would you prefer me to throw away every other parchment, or to cross over every other item?'

'Do not make fun of me, Carnistir!' But Tuilindien laughs as she says, 'I have never been so far away from civilisation. How could I know what I need to take with me?'

'I'll tell you.' He brings another chair to her desk and sits down beside her, spreading the papers on the desk. 'Let us go through your things one by one. Where do you want to begin?'

*

It does not take many days of travelling for Carnistir to realise that he has made a horrible mistake going on this expedition with his wife and his brothers. Not because Curufinwë and Tyelkormo bully or tease Tuilindien – they are actually so eager to teach her wilderness skills that they behave rather decently towards her, puffing up like proud birds when Tuilindien praises their expertise – but because when travelling with three of Carnistir's brothers, he and Tuilindien do not have a single moment of privacy.

They try to find some. From the first day, Carnistir volunteers them for tasks that take them a little way away from the others, such as gathering firewood while Maitimo, Tyelkormo and Curufinwë make their camp ready for the night.

But because they go hand and hand and then Tuilindien kisses him in a particularly romantic glade where birds whose song is different from the song of birds in Tirion fill the air with their sweet chirping, and the trees around them are tall and alien compared to the tame trees of the city, they take so long that Curufinwë is sent to find out whether they have run into some danger.

'I cannot believe that you two started mauling each other before you gathered any firewood at all!' Curufinwë yells at them from the edge of the glade. 'Have you lost all your wits?'

Carnistir growls and points at the small pile of branches at his feet. 'Shove off, Curvo.'

'Fine!' Curufinwë turns on his heels, but he shouts over his shoulder, 'If you don't get back soon, I'll bully Maitimo until he agrees to come get you, and won't that be embarrassing for all three of you!'

Tuilindien lifts her head from Carnistir's chest where she buried it as soon as she heard Curufinwë's voice. 'I don't want Maitimo to have to come get us', she says.

Her lips are very pink, and her golden-brown skin so soft-looking in the gentle light of the glade.

Carnistir takes her face between his hands; her skin is soft and sweet, as ever. 'Soon', he promises. 'We'll leave soon. Not yet.'

'Not yet', breathes Tuilindien in agreement, and kisses him again, holding him as tight as she can.

They run into Maitimo on their way back to the camp, both their arms full of dry branches. Maitimo says nothing, just turns to walk back, and neither do Carnistir and Tuilindien.

Carnistir can feel the heat on his cheeks but he regrets nothing.

Another time he tries to make sure that they'll have time to do more than kiss. He has spent many days watching the play of emotions on Tuilindien's face as she sees new sights, walks new paths, encounters new animals and plants; and at night she settles in his arms, but curling up together under his wide cloak is all that they can do with his brothers within hearing distance.

At home they enjoyed each other daily unless it was a bad day for one of them but here on the roadless road, they can barely kiss without Tyelko offering sarcastic commentary or Curvo heckling them.

Maitimo rolls his eyes at them once, too. Carnistir is very disappointed in him.

One evening they pass a river and decide to make camp near it because everyone is sorely in need of a wash, all of them beginning to offend each other's noses. The forest is turning into more of a jungle in places, and the air is humid and hot and two days have passed since they found a body of water suitable for thoroughly washing. But there is no suitable camping place very near the river, none that passes muster for Tyelko who decides such things, so they camp several minutes away from it.

The river is wide and shallow, and its immediate environs seemed safe enough. Thus as soon as he and Tuilindien have done their necessary part of camp-building, he grabs his washing things, and hers, and her, and says over his shoulder to his brothers, 'We will be taking our time washing.'

Maitimo groans and Curvo swears, and no doubt Tyelko would too if he had not already gone hunting. Tuilindien squeaks in embarrassment, but she doesn't truly protest.

And when they get to the river, she strips herself of her dusty and sweaty travelling clothes as quickly as she possibly can and wades into the river, less shy about bathing in the wild than she has been on any earlier occasion.

Carnistir grins and splashes into the water right behind her, and they find a nice place where the current is not too much and the water is waist-deep, and they cling to each other and he is definitely planning on kissing her for a long, long time, and also…

He runs his hand down Tuilindien's side and under the water and between her legs, and she doesn't protest that either, no, she presses her forehead against his shoulder and holds on to him with shaking hands, and sighs, and makes little noises of pleasure, and –

And then Carnistir hears other noises. _A flock of birds taking flight from bushes_ , his brain supplies without prompting. For a fraction of a second he allows himself to wonder how he could identify the noise when he has his hands on Tuilindien and, he'd have thought, all his senses too –

For a fraction of a second, and then he lifts his hand from Tuilindien and pushes her behind himself and turns to the bushes where he thinks the birds flew from, and tries to see whether there are any signs of a predator approaching, and tries to calculate how quick he can get to the shore and the hunting dagger that he left with his clothes –

But before he is more than one step towards the shore, there is the sound of a swift arrow, and a dead bird falls on the shore, close by where Carnistir and Tuilindien left their clothes.

'Thrice-damned Tyelko', Carnistir growls with a quick glance at Tuilindien.

She has gone deeper into the water. It comes up to her neck. Carnistir is glad. He wades to the shore.

'Tyelko, you rotten misfit!' he bellows as loudly as he can, arriving at the shoreline. 'Run back to the camp or I swear in the name of every single Vala that I will make you run.'

There is laughter from beyond the rivershore, from the forest.

'What is wrong with your head that you could not let us wash in peace!'

'I didn't mean to disturb', Tyelkormo shouts back. 'Rest assured, Moryo, I didn't sneak any peeks at you and your lady. I have no desire to see either of you naked. And that is why I will now get back to camp – I don't want you to humiliate yourself by chasing me naked through the forest. Bring the bird back to camp when you are done bathing.'

'Is this damned bird even edible?' Carnistir yells, eyeing the corpse at his feet with distaste.

There is no answer from Tyelko. Perhaps that most dreadful of Carnistir's brothers (at least at this very moment) has done as he promised and returned to camp at once.

With a snarling sigh, Carnistir turns around and wades back into the river and to Tuilindien who looks like she doesn't know whether to cry or laugh.

She says as much, and 'Will you wash my hair, Carnistir?', and, a little mournfully, 'I think that that is as much intimacy as I dare to have today. Your brothers are –'

'– a mistake', Carnistir finishes for her. 'Just… a mistake.'

Tuilindien laughs a little, and that is good, though not as good as it would have been to make her gasp and moan against his shoulder as he touched her.

He washes her long hair and she washes his back, and they kiss a little. When they return to camp, Carnistir, to his great satisfaction, manages to throw the dead bird so suddenly and forcefully at Tyelkormo that he doesn't notice before it hits him in the face.

That night Carnistir regrets going on this journey with Tyelkormo, Curufinwë and Maitimo. He should have persuaded Makalaurë and Tinweriel to come along, he muses as he sits keeping watch at night, Tuilindien's steady breathing by his side calming him down.

However long it took for them to find the time on their busy schedules, he should have asked them – _they_ would have understood the need for occasional privacy, Carnistir is certain. Or he and Tuilindien should have gone alone, to some safer region.

But by the end of the journey Carnistir decides that it is all worth it, worth the unfulfilled desire to join his body with Tuilindien's, worth being unable to whisper soft words to her without being ridiculed by one of his brothers, worth missing the quiet routines of their life at home.

It is all worth it to see Tuilindien running into a field of exotic wildflowers and twining them in her hair, and the way her eyes shine and her mouth purses in concentration as she sits at Curvo's side as he teaches her how to draw maps – she proves an apt pupil – beside the campfire at night, and the warmth of her slender hand in his when they walk for a stretch to let their horses rest.

It is all worth it to discover new parts of the world together with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Carnistir’s brothers’ defence: he and Tuilindien were being pretty obnoxiously lovey-dovey.
> 
> In the next chapter, Netyarë joins the family.I haven't finished the next chapter yet so I can't promise for certain when it will be posted, but I'll try and have it ready to update on Sunday or Monday.


	6. Sisters-in-law

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was meant to be longer but Tuilindien and Netyarë refused to co-operate with me for a scene of the two of them so I only managed ~1,100 words. It is haphazardly edited so let me know if you notice any major typos etc.
> 
> The chapter includes my OC Netyarë, Curufinwë's wife from my fic [_Sparks fly out_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8520295/chapters/19530187) and sequels. You don't need to have read those to read this, though events from _Sparks fly out_ are mentioned in this chapter.

When Curufinwë falls headlong in love entirely without realising it, Carnistir laughs until he chokes when _he_ realises it. Tuilindien has to pound on his back and tell him sternly not to say anything to Curufinwë or, the Valar forbid, Netyarë.

'They will untangle the mess they've woven in their own time', she tells Carnistir.

'First Curvo hated her, and now he thinks that they're _friends_ –' and here Carnistir starts laughing again, and Tuilindien would reproach him for it but for the knowledge that Curufinwë did not make Carnistir's falling in love easy for him either, teasing him mercilessly.

Privately, Tuilindien thinks that being in love with a smart woman who can hold her own will do Curufinwë a world of good.

*

A year later, Carnistir tells Tuilindien, 'Tyelko joked about making a bet on when Curufinwë gets his head sorted and asks her to marry him.'

They are taking an after-dinner walk in their little orchard, and Tuilindien circles another _yavannamírë_ tree, noting its condition and need for spring pruning. 'Hmm', she says diplomatically.

'I didn't take him up on it yet', Carnistir continues. 'I wanted to take time to think about what I would bet on.'

'They will be engaged by the end of the year, surely', Tuilindien replies absentmindedly as she counts dead branches on another tree. It does not seem to be doing very well. She will have to speak with the gardener.

'Do you really think so?' Carnistir throws his arm around her shoulders, making her take a break from her fruit-tree inspection. 'By the extent of their obliviousness, I would have thought at least one whole year more likely.'

Tuilindien sighs. She may as well explain her observations of Curufinwë and Netyarë to Carnistir so that she can get back to observing her trees.

'Netyarë is not as oblivious as she once was', she says. 'When Curufinwë isn't looking at her, she looks at him sometimes with a pensive gaze that belongs to would-be lovers wondering about the future. If he does not come to a realisation soon, she will help him along, I think. She is not patient enough to wait forever, even if she thinks she is.'

It is Carnistir's turn to say 'Hmm'. Then he kisses her, briskly, radiating pride for some reason, and says, 'I will bet on an engagement before the end of the year, then.'

'It may well happen in the summer', Tuilindien adds after a moment's consideration. 'Or perhaps at the harvest festival. It is, after all, a festival when many attachments are made.'

That makes him smile and join his lips to hers again, and they both smile into the kiss. They became betrothed at a harvest festival.

'I think it best to be careful with my bets, so I will bet on this year. Tyelko has very little faith in Curvo: he thinks it will take a long time', Carnistir says when they have finished kissing and began wandering from tree to tree again, hand in hand.

'That is strange of him, since he is Curufinwë's closest confidante', Tuilindien notes.

'How could Curvo have confided in him about Netyarë when he's still lying to himself? No, you know better, and I will win the bet as usual, and Tyelko will be left seething at having lost. He is so competitive.'

'The only competitive one in the family, I'm sure', Tuilindien says as dryly as she knows how to be. 'But I am not entirely sure whether I approve of making bets on a family member's happiness', she muses.

'It is a family tradition so it must be acceptable', Carnistir says with one of his rare grins, and really, he is making it very difficult to keep inspecting trees.

*

Tuilindien is happy for Curufinwë and Netyarë when they announce their betrothal at a family dinner. They both shine with an inner light and fire that makes Tuilindien happy, too. She hides most her smiles, though, because she thinks Curufinwë's joy is made a little brittle by his insecurity at not realising his love before, and by several of his brothers teasing him.

So Tuilindien eats quietly, conversing a little with Makalaurë at her side every now and then, and she thinks of how Curufinwë was on that first journey into the wilds together with him and Carnistir, and on the ones after.

When Carnistir put his arms around her and kissed her hair as they all sat around the campfire at night, Tyelko would grimace or make a joke, and Maitimo would give a fond little half-smile, and Curufinwë –

Curufinwë would jeer and say something sarcastic about there appearing to be a private field of gravitation that makes it impossible for Carnistir to keep his hands off of Tuilindien; but when he thought no one would see, he would look pensive, and sometimes even yearning.

Tuilindien is happy for him: that her prickliest brother-in-law has found the thing that he had not realised he was missing.

When Tuilindien and Carnistir and Tinweriel and Makalaurë are saying their farewells that night after dinner, Tinweriel remarks to Netyarë with a smile, 'I truly am glad of your engagement. Finally we have a decent number of female voices for the family choir'.

'We don't have a family choir', says Tyelkormo, uncharacteristically grumpy.

Curufinwë laughs, his arm around Netyarë's shoulders. 'Tyelko only likes singing to animals, including those he's killed.'

'Don't speak of things you understand nothing about', Tyelko says, but with less rancour than he would have to anyone else.

Netyarë looks uneasy. Tuilindien sighs internally and explains, wondering why she has to be the one to do it, 'Tyelkormo is devoted to Oromë.'

'Oh', says Netyarë. 'Of course, I should have known it had something to do with that.'

Before Tuilindien and Carnistir leave, Tuilindien embraces Netyarë and says, 'I have three sisters on Taniquetil and now I shall have two in Tirion. Will you come for tea at our house some day when you are not too busy?'

'Of course. Thank you for inviting me.' Netyarë smiles at Tuilindien, and Tuilindien thinks that it is no wonder that Curufinwë became taken with her even against his will.

Tuilindien smiles back. 'I look forward to getting to know you better.'

And she does, and she intends to make Netyarë feel as welcomed into the family as Tinweriel did with her when Tuilindien married Carnistir. Tinweriel did it in her own way – which is to say not as warmly as Nerdanel nor with as many kind smiles as Makalaurë – but Tuilindien appreciated it greatly all the same.

In a family like the house of Finwë with so many strong-willed, loud men with fierce loyalty to one another, it is important for the women to have their own bonds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter that appears to be the last for now* and concerns the potential arrival of a new family member, too. I will post next week, on Thursday if I can manage it.
> 
> *I might add chapters to this fic later if I come up with one-shot ideas for the early years of Carnistir and Tuilindien's marriage, so subscribe to this fic (or the whole Fëanorian marriages series!) to get an email notification if I do.


	7. Long-looked for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a time skip between the last chapter and this one of several years during which Carnistir and Tuilindien live happily, pursuing their various crafts and occupations.
> 
> As usual I'm being partially compliant with _Laws and Customs of the Eldar_. Both POVs in this chapter, which means that for once I managed an equal amount of point-of-view time (3,5 chapters) for both characters.
> 
>  **Warnings** : Fear of infertility (I don't know if that's even possible for elves, but the fear is there anyway)  
> Pregnancy (zero physical details)  
> A tiny bit of religiousness (Tuilindien is religious, though I don't often mention it)
> 
>  _Fëa_ , plural _feär_ : spirit, soul

They have not been married for many years when they begin wishing for a baby, quietly at first and then with all their heart. On some level they have wanted children since they were courting, and by the time they were betrothed and Tuilindien's sister had her baby, Carnistir's heart ached at the sight of the little girl who looked so much like Tuilindien.

Not that they aren't happy together, very happy, just the two of them. To Carnistir's constant amazement and relief, his temper and his awkwardness and all the other things that make him clash with other people rarely make him clash with Tuilindien. And it seems that he is capable of what he has most wanted since the day he met her: to make her happy.

The way she comes to sit on his lap at the end of dinner, and nestles against him at night, and asks for his touch with words and without, and lets him rest his head in her lap when he is tired in spirit or body, and sighs and moans and sobs and altogether makes wonderful noises in their bed at night – it all tells him that she is happy with him. Even he cannot mistake those signs.

The way she is eager to tell him of her day and to hear of his, and how she listens and asks questions as best she can though their callings are very different and she doesn't always understand what he does, and how she laughs when he makes the same joke for the hundredth time, or fumbles the delivery of a new one more often than not; and how they rarely run out of things to speak of and when they do, they are content to be silent together.

The way she smiles her quiet little smile, calm and content, as she sets out on the tasks of her day, and the way she welcomes his family when they visit, however noisy or messy they are (Ambarussar grow less messy as they grow older, but show no inclination to stop being so loud), and the way she walks, confident, in the house he built for her, and wanders in the garden she designed, filled with simple happiness he can feel from far away.

And he is happier than he ever hoped for. Before he met her, when he was already of an age when many had met their loved one and married, he didn't dare think much of love and marriage. He can admit it to himself now. He assumed that finding a spouse would not be easy, with his reputation as the least personable of all the house of Finwë and anyway, he had several crafts he wanted to pursue and better himself at, and he…

Hadn't dared to look for a wife and a family of his own, though he couldn't help wanting that. He'd thrown himself into studying and working and told himself and everyone else that that was the reason he didn't try to find love. How fortunate that he just… stumbled upon Tuilindien when they were both escaping the hubbub of a party.

And now they have many years of love and contentment in their marriage behind them already, and more and more they long for a child. Tuilindien asks to hold any baby that she meets, and Carnistir makes plans for a nursery in his head, too many plans to even fit in one room.

But their hope is not immediately granted.

It sometimes takes time, years even, for the desire for children to bear fruit; and it turns out that it does for Carnistir and Tuilindien, for all his murmured hopes and all her whispered prayers.

It doesn't make him angry, miraculously, but it does make him unsettled, and Tuilindien sad.

Carnistir doesn't know who to talk about it with. In the end, as usual when what is on his mind has anything to do with marriage, he finds himself at Makalaurë's house. Failing to think of a polite way to enquire, he asks bluntly, 'How come you and Tinweriel do not have children? You have been married long enough to have more than one.'

To Carnistir's relief, Makalaurë doesn't appear to be offended. 'We haven't found ourselves wanting children', he replies. 'There are so many other things to do.'

Carnistir grins, feeling much lighter now that he has begun the conversation. 'So many songs to write', he says.

'So many dances to choreograph, for Tinweriel.' Makalaurë gestures expansively. 'So many poems to write, too, for me, and performances for us to direct together, and so on.'

'Hmm.' Carnistir thinks. 'I want to do many new things, too. To try design new kinds of buildings, and to build a supply line of that rare limestone Curvo found in the north-east, and…' he shrugs. 'Many things. And Tuilë wants to write a book.'

Makalaurë chuckles. 'The one she's been planning together with Ambarussar? That instructs teachers on how to best teach language to badly behaved children?'

'That's not how she'd describe it', Carnistir laughs. 'But yes, that one. She has been interested in didactics lately. Yet she wants a child more, to nurture and love and raise, and so do I, although I'm… honestly, Cáno, I am terrified that I will not be very good at the nurturing and raising.'

'You will do it in your own way', Makalaurë says with the quiet encouragement that sometimes seems at odds with his other, more flamboyant habits, and makes him Carnistir's favourite brother to seek support from. 'You are a very good husband – it is clear enough for anyone who sees even for a minute how you are with Tuilindien. You are good at taking care of those who are your own.'

He continues, 'I am not well-versed in the philosophies or theories of it, but I think that the yearning for a child is similar to how you cannot help falling in love with someone. You are either struck with it, or you are not. Tinweriel and I have not been, and you and Tuilindien have.'

'Tuilindien wants it so very badly that I hate it', Carnistir says helplessly. 'It is harder to bear watching her suffer disappointment day after day than it is to bear my own. I want to do something to help her, but I don't know –'

'There is only one thing to do to have a child, is there not', Makalaurë says drily.

Heat rises to Carnistir's cheeks and he says, 'Don't be smart, Cáno. Of course I know that, and we are –' he waves his hand around stupidly '– certainly trying our best. I only wish I could make her feel better.'

Makalaurë's expression softens. 'Just hold her close and tell her everything will be alright', he says. 'Because it will. You will have your long-looked for baby, even if it takes some time. Be Tuilindien's strength in the meanwhile, if she falters.'

'I know, and I will.' Carnistir takes a deep breath. 'I shall try to be patient.'

'Not your forte, I know', Makalaurë says with a wry smile. 'But you are doing well.'

'Better than Tuilindien, for once. It is very strange.' Carnistir rises from his seat, declining Makalaurë's offer of opening a bottle of wine. He wants to go home to his wife.

He feels better as he rides home through the city, even though he did not speak to Makalaurë of his worst, deeply hidden fear.

The fear that they might simply be too different, he and Tuilindien, for them to have a child together, or that at least it will take a very, very long time for Eru to find a _fëa_ that is fit to be the child of such conflicting personalities.

That unease and fear is only worsened when Curufinwë and Netyarë announce that they are going to have a child. They have been married for several years less than Carnistir and Tuilindien.

Carnistir is glad for them, he is, but there are so many different emotions mixed with his gladness that it is very difficult to express it and congratulate them like he should. Curufinwë's smug grins and declarations of how happy he is to be the first of all his brothers to father a child of a new generation certainly do not make it easier.

Curvo has always been competitive in things that shouldn't be competitions.

It rankles Carnistir to lose, especially in something that causes him grief, too, the not-having that feels like the loss of something he never had.

*

Tuilindien is lonely in a new way.

She was lonely in Tirion at first when she married Carnistir. She had him, of course, her beloved, the heart of her world as she navigated living in a new city among a new people.

Then she made enough friends and acquaintances, and got to know Carnistir's family better, that the loneliness slowly faded until one day she realised it was gone.

The new loneliness has crept in as slowly as the old one disappeared. Their home has started feeling too large, too empty, too quiet. The unused rooms Carnistir built for their children call to Tuilindien now, and she goes to them and lingers in the doorways, seeing things there that are not there.

She didn't expect the yearning for a child to feel like this: like an absence.

But that is what it is, and one night when Carnistir carries her to bed after brushing her hair, she holds on to him and says, 'My love, I want us to have a baby.'

And even before he speaks – it takes him a moment – there is a wave of delight from him, so strong that Tuilindien is glad she is already lying down so the wash of it through her doesn't make her feel faint, only happy.

'Yes', he says. 'I mean – I want it too. A child of our own. It is time.'

'It is.' She pulls him down to kiss her, and to lose herself in him so they can make something wonderful that is all its own person, theirs to care for.

But despite all their eager expectations and their ardour, that wonderful thing does not happen instantly. It doesn't happen soon; it doesn't happen for several years.

As time passes, they find themselves in the unusual situation of him having to encourage patience and faith and trust in her.

'We will have a child', Carnistir whispers to her, lifting sweaty curls away from her face one night. 'Do not worry, my love.'

She kisses him and wishes she could have him again straightaway. It is so sweet of him to comfort her when she can feel that he is in need of comfort himself; for he is no good at hiding anything from her in moments like this, moments when the sweat is still cooling on their skin and his heart still beats fast under her hand, and the bed is warm from their lovemaking.

He tells her to trust, even though there is worry and doubt in his own heart. His effort at comforting is worth no less because of it. He has strength and tenacity and endurance that spills over easily from him, supporting her, as easily as the anger that with its ferociousness sometimes tires her spirit.

Tuilindien loves him with all her heart and spirit and body, and she tells herself that she can be happy with him without a child until Eru gives them one.

She prays to Eru and to the Valar, though she knows well that all _fëar_ are made by Eru alone, and given by Eru as children of the Eldar. Tuilindien has never prayed to the Father of All before; she never had cause.

She prays and hopes, and she loves Carnistir, and yet she is growing lonely and fearful.

She dislikes her own weakness greatly, and is ashamed of her lack of faith. After all, there is no reason to think that they will not have a child when the time is right.

The disappointment of not finding herself with child, day after day and week after week and year after year, even begins to sour the act of joining her body with Carnistir. That act has been such a delight to her and him alike, that way of being close and finding pleasure in each other. Tuilindien does everything she can to not let it grow sour.

Just like meeting Carnistir, meeting her child comes when she doesn't expect it.

With Carnistir's support and a large dose of self-discipline, Tuilindien has just managed to talk herself into not worrying for a while, and not praying excessively. So instead of a morning prayer in the orchard where she has built little altars to all the Valar, and often prays to Eru too, she just walks around among the fruit trees she loves. Carnistir has ridden off to a worksite, but she has a quiet day of writing ahead of her.

It rained at night, the pouring rain and whistling wind outside their bedroom windows making their warm bed seem even cosier – Tuilindien still gets cold easily in Tirion – and now in the golden morning light everything shines anew.

It is spring. Tuilindien smells that green scent in the humid air, hears many birds singing on bud-bearing branches, and sees new life growing and blooming all around her; and feels inside her something that was not there yesterday, something that wasn't noticeable just moments ago when Carnistir kissed her goodbye and left, something –

Tuilindien falls to her knees in the wet grass that is just turning green again, and she cries ugly, racking, wordless tears of joy until it hurts.

With those tears and with all of her own _fëa_ that she can gather and control, she tells the tiny spark of life and light inside her how loved they are already, how long longed-for, how welcome and dear and sweet and beautiful. She wraps her own spirit around the small _fëa_ , surrounding them with all her warmth and strength and love. She would lie down and curl up around her stomach physically, too, if the grassy ground wasn't so wet and cool.

She doesn't write a single word the whole day. She cries and she smiles and laughs, all over the garden and house, caring not a whit about how strange the servants must think her.

After some hours of wandering around she gives in to the temptation to linger once again in the doorway of the room next to their bedroom, the large light-filled nursery that they have kept empty of everything but their hopes. Now Carnistir can begin commissioning or building furniture and Tuilindien can ask Netyarë to paint the walls with beautiful colours and sweet images – perhaps some paintings of Tuilindien's parents' home on Taniquetil and her family's farms on the plains of Valinor, to make that side of their heritage familiar to the baby, too.

Tuilindien feels like she cannot wait for Carnistir to get home. She would send word to him but he had several places to go to during the day, so any messenger she sent might just end up chasing him around him.

So she waits. She drags a comfortable chair to the empty nursery – all their furniture is so very sturdy and heavy, difficult to move. Snowdrop comes to investigate, and Tuilindien has to shoo her away with the tip of her slipper so she doesn't get hurt.

Tuilindien sits down in the chair by the window, sets a blanket on her lap, closes her eyes and slips to silent communion with the little _fëa_ inside her, dreaming together of things to come.

Carnistir finds her there, lost to the surrounding world still, their cats napping beside her chair.

From the doorway he asks, warily, probably thinking that she has fallen to some new low of depression, 'Why are you here, Tuilë?'

She shakes herself out of her reverie, but keeps her spirit closed to him for now. She tells him, 'Come here.'

He comes, brows drawn and body tense. He gets so very worried about her.

Softly, Tuilindien says, 'It is nothing bad, my love.'

'Then why are you acting so strange? Tell me.'

She rises. 'I do not even know how to tell you. This morning I went into the garden –' and her words fail her.

She looks into his dark expressive eyes that she hopes their child will have, and she takes his hand and moves it to her stomach. Though she knows that he cannot feel anything there yet: it takes longer for the father.

But he can feel her when she opens herself up to him and lets him feel all her joy in the communion of their two _fëar_ , his and hers.

'Oh', he says in a strangled voice. All his tension is gone, yet he almost shakes. Gently, with more reverence than his fingers hold when they place offerings on altars, he caresses her stomach. 'Are you certain?'

'I could not be uncertain', Tuilindien answers. 'The feeling of another spirit in my body, separate but touching mine, is so strange and distinct and wonderful.'

'I am jealous', Carnistir says, perfectly serious.

'You will feel them soon enough', she comforts him. 'Only for a little while they will be mine alone to watch over and nurture.'

'You will be the best mother', he says with conviction, raising his hand from her middle to hold her face with both hands and kiss her so swiftly that she has not time to assure him that he will be a wonderful parent, too.

It is the happiest kiss.

'How does it feel?' he asks fervently. 'I cannot wait to know. I cannot wait to get to know them.'

Tuilindien smiles, and cries again. This time Carnistir is there to hold her up, and hold her close, and whisper hoarse hopes and plans in her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From [Fair](https://genius.com/The-amazing-devil-fair-lyrics):  
>  _I know exactly what I want  
>  And it’s this life that we’ve created  
> Inundated with the fated thought of you_
> 
> You will wrest the trope of elf mothers-to-be feeling the _fëa_ of their child inside them from my cold, dead, still-gripping hands. I used the pronoun 'they' for the child because Tuilindien doesn't know the gender yet.
> 
> I might add chapters to this fic later, if I come up with small one-shots about the early years of their marriage.

**Author's Note:**

>  **PLEASE NOTE!** The direct sequel to this fic is _[Of Míriel's line](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24741592/chapters/59814391)_ which is **not** the next part in the series because of this fic taking place all over the timeline. If you want to read about Curufinwë and Netyarë, keep reading the series in order; if you want to go directly to reading about Carnistir and Tuilindien's baby, follow the link above to _Of Míriel's line_.


End file.
